Before That Fateful Step
by izatoonist
Summary: Before the Ink Demon, before the Ink Machine, before the door locked forever and initiated an endless loop of horror and pain, it all started because of answering the letter of an old "friend". In this short story of minimal angst, we get a glimpse of the moments leading up to when Henry returns to New York and steps foot on the doorsteps of Joey Drew Studios.


_Author's Note: Hey! It's been awhile since I've actually posted anything. Sorry about that. Between writer's block, life, and working on a multi-chapter fic for a different fandom, I let this account collect dust for ages! Well, to make up for the lack of activity, here's a little drabble I came up with partially due to sleep deprivation and of course, my old pal called procrastination. Enjoy! _

It was a quiet morning as usual. The sun was just peaking over the horizon, warming the green fields with its soft, golden rays. The birds in the trees were just waking up, a little melodious chirp occasionally breaking the cool silence of the morning. An old man stepped out from a simple, yet comfortable-looking house, whistling a bouncy tune. A small smile of peace and contentment crossed his face as he gathered a bundle of letters from a mailbox.

As he walked back to the house, he skimmed over the pile of envelopes. A smaller envelope that was soiled and crumpled along the edges caught his eye. He stopped whistling and furrowed his brow in curiosity. There was no return address on the back, only his name scrawled in ink.

The old man stepped inside and placed the rest of the envelopes on the kitchen table. He carefully opened the envelope and found only a piece of paper. The parchment was yellow and frail, as if it was lost in the post office for ages and was not delivered until now. As he read its contents, his face slightly paled and his eyes widened. "Linda?" he called.

An old woman with streaks of gray in her hair came downstairs and replied, "Yes, dear?" She noticed his troubled expression and frowned. "What is it?"

He looked back down and read the letter aloud.

"_Dear Henry,_

_ It seems like a lifetime since we worked on cartoons together. 30 years really slips away, doesn't it. If you're back in town, come visit the old workshop. There's something I need to show you._

_ Your best pal, Joey Drew_"

"Well, that's a name I didn't think I'd hear in this household again," Linda mused. Her husband remained motionless as he appeared deep in thought, brow furrowed at the paper in his hands. "Honey?" She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Are you all right?"

Henry blinked and looked up at his wife. "…Hmm? Oh, I'm…I'm okay. Just…thinking is all."

Linda rested her chin atop Henry's shoulder as she read over the writing herself. "You don't have to go. Look at it. It looks thirty years older than either of us. For all we know, he's probably dead by now."

"Linda!" he exclaimed, shocked at her morbid notion.

"What? I'm just saying. Joey's been missing for years! Plus he's not even your friend anymore, especially after…well..."

Henry sighed, "Yeah…but…maybe he's changed?"

"I don't know, hun." She moved to wrap her arms around his waist. "I know you want to see the best in people, but maybe it's not worth it."

"Maybe…" He fiddled with the note, the gears turning in his head. "Still, I wonder what he wanted me to see."

"I can come with you, if you want. If Joey's going to be there, I've got a thing or two to say to that man."

Henry thought for a moment before shaking his head. "No, it's fine. I think it's better if I go alone. Maybe finally tie up some loose ends." He turned around and cupped his hand around Linda's face. "Besides, I don't want you to chew him out before I get the chance."

His wife harrumphed, leaning into his touch. "Okay, but if you do see Mr. Drew, tell him that if he tries anything, I will personally come over there and smack him upside the head!"

Her husband chuckled, "I will," before gently kissing her on the lips.

…

After a sweet goodbye, Henry was on a train heading to New York. The sun was high in the sky now, just after lunch. As the train rolled along the tracks, Henry watched as the luscious trees and bright suburbs gave way to the gray streets and towering skyscrapers of the city. He leaned back in his seat, slightly melancholic. So much had changed since he had last been to the Big Apple. There were more people, more massive buildings clumped together, and a lot more noise rattling the smoggy air.

He took out the letter from his pocket and read it over again. Why, after thirty years, would the man, who basically drove him away and was practically presumed dead after hearing no word from him in decades, would reach out now in the form of a flimsy piece of paper, with no other explanation other than he had to show something to Henry? Was he seeking forgiveness? Did he want to apologize after all this time? Or did Joey just want to guilt-trip him for leaving the company they had built together?

The high-pitched screeching of the train halting to a stop interrupted the midst of Henry's reminiscence. Even in mid-August, the station was packed with sight-seeing tourists and daily commuters. Herds of people were walking in every direction.

"Er… e-excuse me, pardon me," he uttered, trying to squeeze through the crowd. He was comparatively short to folks around his age, making it difficult to see over people's heads to figure out where he was going.

The sudden clashing sound of cymbals startled Henry, and he froze in place. The wave of people abruptly parted, and he yelped in surprise, nearly tripping over, as a marching band came by. Confetti rained down in a scattered swirl of color as the blasting of trumpets and pounding of drums caught the attention of fellow onlookers. Henry briefly watched the band proceed down the block, grateful that the unexpected performance had at least cleared a path for him.

After some distance from the crowd, he breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted a familiar street sign. He continued his way and noticed that the surrounding establishments began to appear more aged and spread out, evident that he was getting closer to the older parts of town. There were far less residents here; most of the buildings had been abandoned and were simply awaiting demolition.

Henry rounded a corner and stopped in his tracks. He was still a few blocks away, yet the massive, albeit faded, sign was clear as day. The chipped, painted words "Joey Drew Studios" churned something sour in Henry's stomach.

It brought back bitter memories that he had spent years locking away in the back of his mind.

Hesitantly, he walked forward until he was standing before a worn-out chain-link fence that looked as though it were at the edge of crumbling into dust. The building it was guarding was worse for wear. Windows boarded up, wooden planks rotting in some places, and the roof appearing as though it could collapse at any moment, the whole place looked like a safety hazard just waiting to happen. Although not as big and distinguished as the animation studios in Florida and California, _Joey Drew Studios _had done pretty well in its heyday back in the late 1920s. After Henry's departure and the events of the Second World War, however, the animation company could not keep itself afloat and sadly fell into bankruptcy.

_Maybe Linda was right_, Henry thought. _This was a waste of time_. Surely whatever Joey had wanted to show him was not _that _important. If it was, he could have at least provided more information in the letter in the first place. Henry dug into his pocket and fished out the note. The same thought replayed in his head.

_Was it really worth it?_

A strong wind suddenly stirred out of nowhere and blew the letter out of Henry's hand.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, reaching out for it. The gust caused the gate to swing wide open, carrying the letter across the threshold and to the entrance of _Joey Drew Studios_. The paper flattened against the door as the wind seemed to grow, pushing Henry forward up to the gate. He shielded his eyes as dirt and dust flew everywhere.

Soon the gust dissipated as sudden as it had come. The gate remained open, almost in an inviting, luring manner. Something deep inside Henry beckoned him to walk through the gate, to enter the studio. An internal battle between that feeling and common sense made him waver on his feet, thoughts rapidly vacillating to an overwhelming degree.

_This is crazy!_

_A quick peek wouldn't hurt._

_IT'S NOT WORTH IT!_

_But what did Joey want?_

_Have you forgotten what Joey did?_

_Of course not, but…_

_You're just doing what he wants again._

Henry's throat was dry, and he grasped the fabric of his shirt above where his heart was pounding like it would shoot out of his chest. For a moment, he just stood there, shutting his eyes tightly and taking deep breaths. He ran his hands through his hair and sighed deeply through his nose.

With a defeated shake of his head, he crossed the gate and walked to the door. Henry bent down and picked up the letter, giving it a final glance before putting it back into his pocket. Slowly, he turned the rusty doorknob and was surprised to hear it open with a distinct click. Then, with as much bravado and resolution the old man could muster, Henry stepped inside.

"_Alright Joey, I'm here. Let's see if we can find what you wanted me to see."_

_Author's Note: And, well, you know what happens next. Thanks for reading! I'm practicing writing, and I just wanted to go for a more cinematic approach to the events that led up to the beginning of the game. I wanted to explore Henry's personality, since we don't get a whole lot in the game, as well as dwell on some important questions, like why did Henry leave and how much of a jerk was Joey really? I hope you enjoyed reading, I had fun writing this, and let me know what you think! Share your theories and headcanons, if you want, I'd love to hear them! Also sorry if I reply really late, I am very overwhelmed with all this college stuff and writing fics for this fandom especially is a relieving escape for me. Hope to write again soon!_


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